Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things
by AbattoirNoir
Summary: The story of Aeron Sand, a dornish thief who gets caught in the midst of a war, entangles himself in political intrigue, and searches for the one thing he could never steal. Takes place in a slightly-altered ASoIAF universe where some events from the books occur at different times or not at all. Any and all comments are welcome. Thank you for taking the time to read my work.


Chapter 1

"Wake up you stinking sons of whores. We're 'ere." Dyron's gravelly voice echoed through the galley's belly, rousing the outlaws, misfits, and ne'er-do-wells within. The Night's Watch captain growled a curse and hobbled away leaving the trapdoor open. Icy morning wind whipped off the bay of crabs and down through the open door, further convincing the men to rise from their beds. Water lapped against the side of the ship and Aeron Sand sat up on an elbow. It wasn't so long ago that he was basking in the glow of a midday Dornish sun; drinking sweet red wine and enjoying the finest company Sunspear had to offer. He'd earned those simple pleasures, but, as he touched the still healing scar above his eye, he supposed he'd earned the pain too. Aeron pulled on his saltwater dampened boots and headed up to the deck with the others.

The sun hid behind an overcast sky in the east. It barely illuminated the bay and, though it was midmorning, the people of Saltpans only just now began to extinguish their lamps and lanterns. Faint smoke drifted from chimneys and townsfolk could be seen moving back and forth on the harbor. Aeron didn't possess a great deal of knowledge about the town of Saltpans aside from it being the first stop on the group's journey to the Shadow Tower. He traveled with eight other men: Dyron and Layn, both men of the Night's Watch though, even Aeron could tell Layn was just a green boy trying to prove something by traveling south for recruits. There was Tom, Bernerd, and Dennas from King's Landing. Tom and Dennas weren't so bad, just petty thieves jailed for pick pocketing the wrong people but Bernerd... He deserved something worse than being sent to the wall if the stories about what he did to brothel wenches were true. Then there was Darick, a boy from some town near Mummer's Ford, Patreck from the Stormlands, and Petyr, another man taken from the dungeons in Dorne where Dyron had found Aeron.

"We'll be stayin' 'ere until I've gathered up the supplies we need to make our way North. The further we go the more we'll be feelin' the truth of those Stark words and as much I'd hate to spend the Watch's silver on yer comfort, it can't be avoided. We'll need furs and bedrolls," Layn took out a pad of parchment and began writing down the supplies as they were dictated to him, "some more torches, salt fish should be cheap 'ere, and lets see if we can't find a horse or two – in case any of you'd like to run off," he said, glancing over to the group of recruits, but Aeron was the only one who was paying any attention. Dyron turned back to Layn and continued on with the preparations. A few moments later, as the boat was reached the harbor, he turned back again, "All right lads, let's be off, follow me."

The sun was beginning to break free of the clouds and warm the air as they stepped off the boat. The place was positively bustling with activity today. Fisherman selling their catch, yelling out atop one another about their different kinds of oysters and clams and shrimp, haggling over prices and passing money and goods back and forth with the townsfolk. It was a lively place indeed. The unwashed group didn't look too out of place among the people of Saltpans but their black-cloaked leaders gave them away for what they were and, as they passed, people quieted and stared. They knew what the men were and they knew where they were going. Their looks could have been ones of pity, or disdain, or both but one thing was for certain, those who took notice of the Night's Watch recruits weren't made happy by seeing them. They reached the Saltpans main square and filed one after the other into the Half Moon Inn. Aeron was the last one in the door and, as he entered, he overheard Dyron speaking to the man who presumably owned the inn.

"Seven stags for each of us? You've got to be out of your bloody mind. What did the rest of this lot pay to stay here?"

"It don't matter what they paid, m'lord – seven stags is the price"

"I'm not a lord and four stags should be plenty, I'd be over paying as it is." Dyron said as he pulled out a pouch heavy with coins. "These men won't be causing you any trouble. We'll see to that," He gestured to Layn who was standing nearby.

"You and that boy are going to see to it are ya?" he snorted, "and just how many of these men came with you willingly? I've already seen that bald one over there eyein' up me wife; don't think I haven't notice, _m'lord_." A hint of venom tinged the word. "It's not my business to risk the safety of my inn to house your pack of brigands. Not for less than seven stags a head it isn't." Aeron could see a purple vein bulging in Dyron's neck.

"The others take you and your bloody inn." Dyron dropped the coins on the counter of the bar and turned on his heel to address the men. "If anyone of you causes even the slightest hint of trouble you'll have all seven hells to pay for it." He drew his gaze over all of them, lingering for a moment on Bernerd. "Mallister would have my hide for coming back with fewer men than we've got already but even I can't prevent accidents on such a long journey." He turned to Layn, "Go fetch the supplies we need and take a couple of them with you, I'll keep an eye on the rest."

"Aye sir," Layn pointed to Tom and Dennas, "You two lads, come with me." The others went over to tables and the bar to buy ale with the few coppers they managed to scrounge up on the journey leading to Saltpans and Layn, Tom, and Dennas departed the inn. Aeron sat at a table by the hearth and waited. It had been many long nights of sleeping on the ground beneath trees and stars and rain and, as of most recently, the creaking deck of a boat. Patreck sat down across from Aeron with two horns of ale. He took a long pull from one, made a face of disgust, and swallowed.

"I don't think I'll be needing this." He said as he extended the cup to Aeron, "Go on, take it. It tastes like piss but it might make you forget where we're going for a bit." Aeron took the ale.

"Thanks." Aeron said. He drank some ale and made a similar face at its taste.

"So you said you're from Dorne? Must be nice there right now."

"It's certainly warmer. Though, I guess it's always warm there." The scar on Aeron's head throbbed at the thought of the place, he raised his hand to rub at it.

"Are you going to tell us how you got that?"

"Us?" Aeron looked up and noticed that Petyr and Darick had sat down at the table as well, "I would prefer not to get into it."

"It looks like you took a ax to the head, have too much fun with the Dornish man's wife?" the others laughed together.

"No." Aeron's eyes lowered, "it was his sister." The men at the table all laughed once again.

"I had a Dornish girl once, right feisty little thing she was. Left me with some scars as well, though, on my back." Patreck winked and drank more of the foul ale. "So, what was her name?"

"I said I'd rather not get into it." Aeron stood up from the table and walked away to the sounds of protest from the other men. He moved across the room to Dyron who was still standing at the bar. He was speaking to the innkeep's wife.

"Oh it's all right Dyron," she said with a smile, "Cedrick is just protective of me is all. House Cox doesn't have the kind of control over Saltpans that it used to. It can be an unforgiving place to go trusting strangers." Cedrick's wife was a fair woman with auburn hair and a round, kind face. Her rough spun shirt was cut low revealing more of her ample bosom than her husband likely cared for. She giggled as Dyron said something back to her and looked over to Aeron as he approached. "You must be the Dornishman that Dyron here has been telling me about." she said with a smile.

"My name is Sand, yes, but I'm no Dornishman – just lived there is all."

"You were born in Dorne, that makes you a Dornishman." Dyron gave him a sideways glance. It crossed Aeron's mind to argue the intricacies of ethnicity but he decided that they may be lost on a man who gave up his house name.

"I came to ask you about our rooms Dyron, who will I be bunking with?"

"You'll have your own. Cressida here only had so many doubles so you'll be taking a spare bed in the attic space – may be a little cramped though." The thought of not sleeping within feet of the other recruits was welcome, even if the space was to be cramped; but the thought left him as he looked up to see Cressida smiling at him again. His scar throbbed and, as he reached his hand up to rub the pain away, he saw her bite her lower lip and he looked away quickly.

"Would you mind if I took the key now?" He asked, avoiding eye contact with the innkeep's wife.

"Impatient are we? Miss Cressida here hasn't gotten the chance to -"

"Here you go." Cressida slid the key across the bar and, as Aeron reached down to grab it, their hands touched. As they did, she winked at him.

"Thank you." He turned and headed up the stairs with haste.

The sounds of merriment below drifted faintly up two sets of stairs into the attic room where Aeron sat on his bed. The sun had set and more people of Saltpans showed up to the Half Moon to drink themselves into oblivion it seemed. The attic room was lightly furnished with a bed, a chair at the far wall which sat beside a window overlooking the bay of crabs, a nightstand by the bed set with an oil lamp and a small chest by the door. He reached into a pocked sewn into his shirt and pulled out a piece of parchment. He read it quietly to himself:

 _My dearest love,_

 _I hope you will always remember these nights we've shared. I know that I will. I dream of having your arms around me once again, of having your lips pressed against mine, of hearing the beating of your heart in my ears and feeling the warmth of unadulterated joy in my soul. You are the light that guides me to want to live once more, you are my mountains, my ocean, my stars, my truest passion. I will not let them take you from me. I will..._

A tear hit the page and the ink of the signature began to bleed. He folded the parchment and placed it back in its pocket. It was shaping up to be one of those nights; the kind where the only thought that would come to him would be one of her. He left his room and made his way to the bar to forget about this pain. Cressida stood behind the counter of the bar arranging bottles and making small talk with the patrons nearby. He walked up to her, "What's the strongest drink you sell?" she giggled, took out a bottle of clear liquid and poured it into a tall glass.

"It's on the house." she said with that same sly smile as before but Aeron's mind was elsewhere now. He lifted the glass and, though it burned his throat to do so, he drank deep. When the first glass was empty the room began to spin faintly. Cressida had already filled the glass again and Aeron lifted it to his lips, this time with a slight bit of hesitation which soon passed. A haze fell over his vision and, once again, he looked down to find his glass filled.

The memory of events as they happened next were hazy in Aeron's mind. One moment he was drinking by the bar, his glass raised, flaming tendrils snaking through his chest and the next he was walking... or stumbling, really, with one hand around a thin waist and the other bracing him against the wall of a stairwell. He remembered a woman's laughter and the sound of a door bolting behind him. He heard the laughter again and felt himself be pushed onto the bed in his attic room, faint moonlight poured in from the window overlooking the bay. He felt his trousers lowering from his waste and he felt himself fail to intervene. Wet, hungry, eager lips pressed against his and his mouth opened for a curious tongue. His hands ran up smooth, full thighs and continued on to find themselves among even fuller breasts. His vision was still mostly a haze but he could see the woman on top of him, her auburn hair falling in locks as she moved. He couldn't stop himself, he was enjoying himself. "Yes... Oh.. Yes Aeron.. uhhhnf..." she moaned. She squeezed and shuddered as he lost control all of himself and, with a great sigh she collapsed on top of him. "I guess.. it wasn't Bernerd.. that my husband.. should have worried about." She said between breaths and he heard that giggle once again. Silver moonlight silhouetted Cressida's naked form as she stood, "Dornishman or not," she said as she pulled on her clothes, "you certainly live up the reputation." She unbolted the door and slipped away, locking it behind her.

Aeron's head was pounding when he awoke. He could be sure that at least his memory of drinking last night wasn't a dream; as for the other parts... well, he hoped he'd dreamed them anyway. He stumbled out of his bed and gathered up his clothes to get dressed. When he moved across his room to look out of the window he noticed that the bay of crabs was empty of ships, that the harbor was deserted, and, as he noticed the black smoke drifting around his window, he looked down to the market square below the inn and saw that it was in flames.


End file.
